Masquerade
by Michelle H. C. Zhu
Summary: Amelda couldn't help but muse about the people around him. Why does everybody in Doma wear a mask?


They think I'm the most ambiguous one out of all of us.

That Varon wears his emotions on his sleeves, that Raphael merely doesn't like to speak, that Mai is too immersed in revenge to converse, and that Dartz is our savior, the one whose ultimate goal is to purge the world of humanity and start fresh in paradise.

Apart from them, Gurimo had already lost his soul after his duel with the Pharaoh. Old guy's cramping our style anyway; I don't know or care _what_ his intentions were.

What am I doing here in this old room, festering and rotting my hours away? It's barely been half a year since I've joined Doma and yet…I've been musing, pondering if my goals are truly the right ones and if I've been following the right path in life for the past couple of years.

I need to think. There's so much going on in my mind that maybe a walk will straighten out my mind. The fresh air will do me some good. I rise from from my bed and walk out my room, shutting the door behind me.

…

Raphael's objectives are loud and clear; _he wants everyone dead_. Now, I don't want to make him sound like a blood-thirsty manslayer—he most certainly doesn't want a mountain of flesh-stripped corpses lying limply at his feet—but the truth is he **does **want to rid the Earth of all humans.

I don't know about the details of his childhood, but there are times when I pass by his bedroom in the dead of night just to hear cries and soft screaming on the other side of the door. I remember pausing next to his door on those nights, my blood running icy cold through my veins as I hear the strangled cries emitting from his room.

I have this suspicion that maybe Raphael isn't as strong as he looks. He's just wearing a 'tough guy' mask.

Then again, we're all putting on facades. These masks of ours, it's the symbol of Doma. It's as if when we joined the organization, all thoughts and feelings were thrown under a single expression, whether it is a cheerful smile or an indifferent frown. Doma has encaged us, forcing all who joined to inwardly deal with their heartbreak and pain and yet feel no emotion on the outside.

Ah…maybe none is going a bit two far. _He _says we can only feel three emotions; restraint, determination and anger. There is no remorse, no sympathy, and no sadness for our victims or for ourselves for that matter.

Varon and Raphael both think I'm the only one wearing a mask, that the curtains to my emotions have been drawn shut. Heh, I guess they haven't taken a glance at themselves lately.

I stop outside Raphael's door again, straining my ears to hear some nonexistent plea, a silent cry for help. Nothing. Which a slight twinge of regret, I turn a heel and would have continued walking if a slight grunt hadn't made their presence noticed.

"What." It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

I barely have to rotate my head to know that the door had mutely swung open during the few seconds I'd turned my back. Raphael is leaning against the doorframe in a cool, indifferent manner. No light pours from the room, which makes most people think he is asleep and at the same time, makes his presence nearly imperceptible.

My back still to him, I raise my palms and shrug good-naturedly. "Oh look, you caught me red-handed."

He quirks a blond eyebrow at my light tone. I sense his discomfort for in his mind, he believes that intimidation should have already overwhelmed me. I'm suddenly sounding awfully a lot like that Pegasus man, mocking the people around him with a sugar-coated voice. And because of this, he's confused now.

"What do you want, Amelda?" he asks again, his voice slightly deeper with the edge of an empty threat to them this time.

Impatient aren't we now? I spin around and face Raphael with an innocent smile. "Nothing. Can't a man take a walk on his own accord?"

A grunt. "So why does it happen that your walk always seems to stop at my door?" I feel his piercing ceruleans bore holes into my skull. He wants answers. And he wants them now.

But since this is a game of cat and mouse, he'll have to figure them out by himself. I simply cock my head to the side. "I have no clue what you're talking about, Raphael."

"Don't play innocent," he growls with narrowed eyes.

A smirk grazes my lips with the knowledge that his patience is already wearing thin. I've barely provoked him and the blonde's already losing his internal control. He shoots daggers directly into my eyes, as if the anger itself could knock me from my feet.

We have a death-glare match for a few minutes. My gray locks onto his blue, and there is a wordless tension as both of us fight to maintain our stature. Complete silence echoes the hallway and it seems even the clock on the wall has stopped ticking to add to the stillness.

"Raphael, I don't understand. Your unwavering trust in _him_ will lead to a downfall." I finally lose the sugary smile and give in.

I drop the easygoing act and look seriously at the man standing in front of me. Inwardly, my conscious reminds me why I am standing here and talking to him in the first place. _A word of warning._

For a moment, there is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and he blinks. But it disappears as quickly as it came and Raphael ends up giving me a hard look.

"…then you shouldn't have joined," he responds icily. There is a tone of finality in his voice that clearly indicates I should _drop the subject_.

But I refuse to give up so easily. I try again. "He promises us what we have always desired for, sought after—justice, peace, riches…all our greatest desires."

Ceruleans narrow darkly. "What are you getting at?"

"Why did you join?" I suddenly ask, completely catching him off guard with the unexpected change of subject. He scrutinizes me with beady eyes, wary of what my true intentions are. I am confident that Raphael won't be able to see past me though. I already know what his intentions are for joining Doma, yet hearing the words come out of his mouth will confirm my suspicions.

He grunts, satisfied with his examination. "This world is filled with evil and greedy people." He states coldly and looks at me squarely in the eye. "Like _Gozoborou Kaiba_."

He is slightly pleased to see that I'm taken aback for a few seconds at the slight mention of that name before regaining my posture. Raphael catches on quickly, for him to surprise me with reference to my arch-rival; turning the tables and making me doubt my own choices. I smirk. _Not bad._

"The darkness taints the earth that used to be pure and clean," he continues and avoids my amused gaze. I watch him turn his head to the side as if in recollection of a tragic childhood. "I merely want to get rid of their filth."

"Purge the world of all humanity?"

Raphael nods.

Hmm…he and I have he the same interests for ending humankind. For me, it's understandable. I've lost everybody and everything that ever meant anything to me at all. That war stole my innocence and stirred up my hatred for all humanity for I've experienced their evil deeds first hand. A liberator is what I have become, and with the power of the Orichalcos to back me up, I'll save the world from destruction.

But Raphael? He had once mentioned something about being stuck alone on a deserted island for three years. Alone. All by himself. All by himself and his three guardian cards.

I do not understand. I would loved to be in his shoes—alone from society and all those greedy desires. Raphael was free as the wind and living in peace, knowing that gunshots won't wake him up in the middle of the night or that his trip outdoors might be his last.

How could his mind be corrupted with such a nonviolent childhood? Merely because he lost his family? His parents and siblings? Have **I** not gone through the same thing?

There's something deeper to his sense of justice than just this.

And now I understand. I've been looking at things in the wrong angle. I have always that he wore a mask to cover up his true emotions. But these _are_ his true emotions, his intentions, his objectives…they are the mask.

…

I feel his hot glare on me, now interested at what's processing in my mind as I have been silent for the past few minutes. Raphael believes that there are a lot of layers to me, like I'm an onion or something.

Actually, I'm not all that hard to read. He's merely looking in the wrong perspective of things, as is Varon, Mai who would care less, and even Dartz himself. I would have smirked at the very thought, but by doing so, would probably lose what little trust the blonde had in me. Instead, I ask him a question that will determine the entire outcome of this discussion.

"How do you know that _he_ isn't just one of these evil and greedy people?"

Immediately, his broad frame is rigid. The thought had never even crossed his mind. There's a twinge of regret in my conscious as he is my beloved comrade, yet the bare truth will do the older man in front of me some good.

However, Raphael refuses to accept it. Havening gotten over the initial shock, his fists clench, his knuckles whiten, and within a few seconds, crimson seeps through the cracks of his hands. His entire body is shaking silently and I'm vaguely aware that he's trying to control his anger and swatting me down like a fly.

"Leave, Amelda. _Now_."

The once empty threat is suddenly laced with dangerous bindings. _Stay any longer and I won't be responsible for any fingers lost_, is his real message.

Isn't it funny? I suddenly want to say. I purposely leave our master's name out yet you still comprehend his existence because the conversation speaks volumes itself. I am about walk off, but a guilty conscience begins to stir in the recesses of mind. _Do you not feel bad?_ an ominous voice whispers in my head.

A final warning is all I give him. If he refuses to listen, then I am not to blame.

"…I do not trust _him_. Be on your guard."

—and he slams the door in my face.

But whatever, because though Raphael's outlook on life is rather pessimistic, it isn't any less depressing than mine. There's a future for this man. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel for him, and though it may be faint and dim, and though the shadows threaten to consume him every step on the way…there's still hope for Raphael.

I guess that's why I was being so harsh on Dartz…sama.

What is it? Pity? Worry? Sympathy?

She died a few years after the war had started, my mother. I was barely eight back then, still wholly too trustful and oblivious to the harsh world out there. She had shielded me and Miiruko from the truth, pushed away our fears and held onto us as if we were the most precious things in the world. When my curiosity got the better of me and I would ask why there were unmoving bodies on the ground, she would hastily reply that they were sleeping.

"_The world isn't a bad place, Amelda_," she had once said softly._ "There are just times when people are confused…and we have to suffer the consequences for their mistakes."_

I didn't really understand such words till I was holding her limp body in my tiny arms, feeling the warmth radiate away till an cold, empty shell was all that I had left for a mother. It wasn't till then that I realized everything she had said was a lie.

_We have to suffer the consequences for their mistakes..._

It was then and there that I had lost my trust in people and my innocence in battle. I swore that humanity would never mistakes again because they would never have a chance as I would destroy them from the face of the earth.

Pity? Worry? Sympathy?

Concern is not one of my best traits but I merely don't want to see another person's soul shattered because of a false promise. Raphael…he is a good person behind that cold mask.

Pity? Worry? Sympathy?

…maybe it's better if I leave this emotion undecided.

Miss Loudmouth…I don't know where to find her. Arrogant, boastful, ad unbearably ignorant—I don't care how pretty she is, people like her are better off dead and buried in a grave somewhere.

Mai isn't in the building; probably went of to look for Katsuya.

I glance at another empty hallway. As I walk down the stairs from the upper level to her bedroom, I suddenly realize that she was_never_ in here before. The bed is still perfectly made and there are no signs of human disturbance on the sheets. Dirt had gathered into visible clumps in the corners and there is a thin layer of dust on the furniture.

"_She stays overnight at the local hotel,"_ I vaguely remember Varon telling me. A bitter grin flickers on my lips. Figures, that bitch wouldn't want to hang out with us 'freaks.'

But maybe I'm being too harsh on Mai because you can say me and her are very similar. We're both loners. Revenge seekers. And we prefer silence over words.

Now Varon claims to be a loner, but one can easily see that he's friendly, outgoing and exceptionally gifted in social interaction. It's just that joining Doma doesn't allow much expansion to that gift…and what's there to talk about, really? How many souls we collected in a day? What color we painted our motorcycles? Varon's merely with the wrong crowd of people…us.

Raphael really isn't a loner; he's just a man of few words. If you know the blonde long enough, you'll realize that he truly treasures teamwork and doesn't mind working under a master that he finds admirable.

This is where Dartz comes in. He's my employer, but I know less about him than I know about my own comrades. Where he gets his power, what he's actually after…I know it's not really peace and paradise.

I find him praying in the alter room, a daily ritual for Dartz. He's kneeled down in front of the stone carvings, two fingers held up a few inches away from his lips, chanting an ancient spell under his breath. He immediately senses my presence as I walked through the doors, because the next thing I know, I'm greeted with mismatched eyes.

"What troubles you, my child?"

His voice is soft, his tone caring, and there is a gentle smile on his face that welcomed talk. But his eyes gave it away. They always do.

Buried deep in my self-conscious, I know somewhere that Dartz wields a false promise and that he's really manipulating all of us for his own purposes, his own selfish reasons…

…but the vow I have made years ago has foolishly clouded my vision, for the time being at least.

"I sense discomfort in your heart," he tries again when I don't respond.

Dartz thinks I came here to talk about my troubled feelings. Now he's trying to pry me open, expose my deepest secrets so that I'm bare and vulnerable to the harsh world. Then he'll come in as the knight in shining armor and declare that he can shield me from the pain. He thinks that_ he_ has the upper hand, that _he_ is winning the game. Che, the fool.

I kneel down respectfully, draping my arms across a knee and bow my head. "Forgive my intrusion, Master Dartz," I say silkily, almost causally, eyes downcast at the marble floor. "I merely believe I've entered the wrong room."

He instantly drops the parental concern act and frowns deeply. I've turned the tables and made a fool out of him, playing along with his little game, pretending that he was in control. He glares down upon me in displeasure; he knows I'm lying between my teeth. In silent amusement I watch the man who I call my master struggle to keep his cool. His mask is breaking. The calm and collected Dartz is losing the battle to fury and irritation.

_That's what you get for trying to manipulate me_.

There's not a person in Doma that can successfully control me like a puppet on strings, influence my thoughts and viewpoints as if I am a simple child in need of a hug. Especially not Dartz.

But the spark of infuriation with my uncanny behavior that reflected in his eyes is gone by the time I glanced up. Instead, he smiles again though this time with more difficulty.

"Ah, well…yes," he finally says, almost cheekily. "Then you are dismissed." With a wave of the hand he turns his back to me. I regain my posture and swiftly walk out.

If this man can help me with my revenge and a peace of mind, then let him manipulate me all he wants. I'll let myself get played just like Raphael and Varon. I'll suppress my suspicions as long as the hatred remains.

This hatred of mine is very similar to Mai's hatred toward that Katsuya kid. But there's a big difference between us. I don't fully comprehend her way of thinking. She and Jounouchi Katsuya were good friends at one point, as Varon had told me. They had shared a special bond, a reliable trust on one another, something deeper than friendship…which was why Varon had completely lost it when the Katsuya broke her heart.

I do not understand, nor do I wish too. Is this what love is? If this pathetic emotion is truly love, then I'm going to avoid it for the rest of my life. It is too complicated, foolish, and pointless.

Varon is in love with her. Not directly perhaps—but every smile, every sigh, every gaze is directed towards Mai. His actions reveal his true intentions, even if his facial expressions do not. And yet she does not love him back. But even so, that stupid Aussie goes and risks his life and soul for this woman and for _what_? It is all too confusing for me to comprehend…

Mai is angry at Katsuya because of some sort of…love argument, I believe. But my anger burns so much deeper than some broken puppy-dog crush; Seto Kaiba _ruined my life_.

But I refuse to go into that cocky bastard. Dartz knows the truth, seeing as he knows all, but the others merely believe I was assigned to him as Raphael was to the Pharaoh and Varon to Katsuya. I know that Raphael suspects there something deeper with my connection with Kaiba than him merely being my assignment, but apparently Raphael's too dense to figure out what.

It doesn't matter anyway. All they need to know is that…

He. Will. Die.

Hearing his name being said hurts as much as hearing Miiruko's name. I…I…will check on Varon.

…

Stealth has always been my strong point; it was a mandatory skill if you didn't want to get blown into bits during the war. When I was younger, my 'friends' would dub me as 'thief-boy', as I was the quickest and quietest out of all of them. I would sneak unnoticed by the tanks and come back with food and other items in my arms.

Muffling the creaks of the hinges, I push open Varon's door a tiny crack just so I could squeeze through. My movements stop for a moment. _Does he…?_

Not at all.

I stride through random pieces of garbage, disgusted. I stand directly behind him for a few seconds, curious if he recognizes my presence yet. If this was a case of robbery and murder, Varon would have been long since killed, chopped up and left on the streets for the dogs. Ceruleans still glue to the computer screen. Nope.

Suddenly, I vaguely wonder how Varon made it this far with such dull cerebral skills. He doesn't belong here. Raphael and I—it isn't just similar objectives that we have. Raphael and I have the same sharp and quick minds, same cold and indifferent attitude to the world around us. Yet, Varon is like a child…and I don't just say this because he's the youngest.

"You're playing a video game. Again?" I state flatly and loudly, breaking his deep train of thought. I lace my arms in an irritated manner across my chest.

I couldn't resist the temptation to smirk all-knowingly as the brunette jumps about a mile high from his chair. He quickly spins around to face me with an incredulous look. A few blinks before he comprehends my name.

"A-Amelda?"

I know nothing about this boy either, except he's barely an adult by nature, eighteen years I believe. Good, because Varon being a few years younger than me allows me to address him less respectfully.

"Wow, Aussie, and I thought you were learning disabled." The sarcasm practically drips off my voice. "But luckily the memorization of my name isn't on the IQ test."

The look of confusion is quickly replace by anger as brown eyebrows knot and his hands clench. For a second there, I thought he would try to punch me in the face—not that he could for I'd dodge it—but instead, Varon swerves his chair so that his back is facing me again.

He is like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Once soft and innocent, yet warped by childhood that he definitely didn't deserve to have. There are times he reminds me a bit of my brother.

I direct my attention back to the silly computer game Varon's so absorbed in. "So you're trying to kill that…_thing_?" I say in a lack of a better word.

He only huffs; apparently I'm still not forgiven. I wordlessly examine the game for a few more minutes before leaning towards the computer screen.

"There—" I stab a finger at a green slime-covered monster that oddly reminds me of an enlarged version of the Man-eater Bug. "—shoot the eyes."

I'm not a big video game fanatic considering the fact I have ever played a video game, but apparently beginner's luck and intelligence come as a packaged deal in life. Now, Aussie here, on the other hand, has been flickering the joystick around for more than two years yet, he still has the brain mass of dust bunny.

If in any other situation, Varon would scoff at my orders and squirm to do it his own way. But desperation reflects in his eyes and he's clearly willingly to try anything now. After a few jolts of the joystick and repeated taps on the keyboard, the words '**You Win**!' flash in big, bold letters across the monitor.

He sighs contently and turns off the computer screen. "That was a good call, mate."

I frown. "I'm not your 'mate.'"

Varon quirks an inquisitive eyebrow before chuckling to himself. "Not like _that_, Amelda."

He's really too naïve, yet clever and tricky at the same time. Now I can actually see Miiruko inside a boy like him.

Uncomfortable silence hovers over us after his last words. It's not the same as the one Raphael and I or Dartz and I share, because Varon and I are not mortal enemies either way around, and it doesn't really matter _what_ I say. With Varon, I feel the need to talk about something that would interest him.

"We're meeting the Pharaoh in a few weeks."

The brunette leans back on the plush chair and slides two arms behind his head in a pillow fashion. "And I should care…why?" he replies dryly, closing his eyes.

I can't help but raise an eyebrow in bittersweet amusement. So much for interest.

Varon's the exact opposite of Raphael, who dedicates all his time and effort into achieving his honorable goals, and who would probably lick Dartz's boots if he was asked to. Varon, in contrast, is a lazy fool, whiney as the girl he slobbers over and probably only joined Doma to obtain a fancy motorcycle and a pair of those freakishly huge goggles.

But it's actually a comforting thought. Secretive and angry is every member of this organization, and I'm no expectation. We're all locked in our rooms unless called for a mission, wearing these masks of ours to feel safe from darkness. But Varon…he's different.

Preppy and constantly happy, he's like the sunlight that keeps the mood up. There is no depression with a guy like this in the room; it's as if he feeds us his own happiness and ends up with none for himself. I feel no need to constantly guard my feelings and true motives, instantly snapping back if anybody gets to close to hitting the truth.

With him, I can almost let my defenses down. Almost.

But I'm suddenly uneasy. There is something about his attitude I can't put a finger on…

"This video game of yours…" I suddenly cut into the silence in what is considered to be a cheerful voice for me. "What's its name?"

Varon cracks open a single eye and stares up at me, surprised at my actions. He knows I'm not a conversationalist and that I don't normally talk for the sake of talking. Why start now?

"I don't know," he finally admits, and now it's my turn to be surprised. Upon seeing the skeptical look on my face, the blue-eyed boy quickly explains, "It's in Japanese."

More uncomfortable silence.

I do not understand why I have such a hard time saying something to him. Manipulation can easily be done as I have just demonstrated moments ago with Dartz and Raphael. And yet with Varon…he's just too naïve…just like Miiruko...

…it's the best for Varon.

"Why are you serving him?" I suddenly say, the hesitant tone in my voice instantly replaced with demand and harshness. If bitter coldness will pull him out of his little dream world and open him up the truth, then so be it.

Confusion clouds his eyes. "Serving who?"

I blink. What an unexpected answer. And I can't determine if it's genuine or if he's just bluffing. If Varon thinks he can weasel his way out of my sharp sight, then he's got another thing coming. Two can play at that game. "Our master."

He raises an eyebrow. "You mean that fella?"

I nod slightly. "You must have a reason."

"Sure do." I look at him expectantly, hiding my surprise that he's willing to give up so easily. "I was bored." Then with a moment of pause and a considerate afterthought of, "But it seems like I'm even more bored now."

I had to resist the urge to face-fault. Who**is** this guy? But Varon is serious; there is no trace of humor or laughter in his voice, so I keep on a straight face as well. "So basically you joined Doma to do nothing?"

"Yup."

"That's absurd." I dangle a hand on my hip and smirk at him with an unimpressed look. Really, I expected some more resistance from him. Hmm…maybe I have to redefine my evaluation on the poor boy. "You know Aussie, I knew you were _stupid _but this is ridiculous," I say in a saucy tone.

Varon looks angry—angrier than the last time I called him stupid. Blue ceruleans narrow into tiny slits and I feel the rage radiating off him, threatening to explode…but then he stops. He regains control and leans back into his chair in a surprisingly calm manner.

"Really." He suddenly looks very serious. "Tell me Amelda, why did _you_ join then?"

I snort. This is really too easy. Varon needs to brush up on his bantering skills. Dive head in, hoping that I'll just give him a direct answer? Fine then, I'll pretend to follow along. "To destroy mankind."

He seems satisfied with my answer. "So what happens after mankind is gone?"

My brows furrow and I lose my smirk. "What do you mean?"

"There will be nobody left on earth, right? No people mean no jobs, no fun, no…anything." His tone is so carefree, so _natural_ that I'm surprised. He speaks as if this is a causal conversation about the weather. For a few seconds, I'm speechless in shock. Is he actually trying to do any manipulation at all? Suddenly, I'm not so sure what I'm doing is right.

"What will you do?"

For Raphael, I opened his eyes to the truth. For Dartz, I ruined his pride. For Varon…?

There's no turning back…might as well end this.

"I'll do nothing then," I declare, the satisfied smirk returning to its rightful place. "It's better than living in with a world full of hatred and evil," I add in quickly, trying to tie up the loose knots to my argument so he can't unloosen them and use it against me.

"Ah-ha!"

Varon abruptly stands up and points a finger directly into my face. I startle and am confused, wondering what just happened to make him so excited. The brunette has a triumphant smile planted in his expression and I suddenly feel as if I've missed the joke. What's he so happy about?

"You see? You joined for the same reason I did! To do nothing!"

Realization slowly dawns upon me.

…

And I can't help but smirk. The kid's not bad. Not bad at all.

He flashes me a toothy smile, a grin that reaches from cheek to cheek. I've underestimated him, thinking that he was all dense and oblivious. I turn my back and leave, for there's nothing more that can be achieved from this conversation. His mental barriers are like solid steel, compared to Raphael's which are merely made of brick. He has won…as of right now anyway.

I'm halfway out the door when Varon's oddly detached voice stops me in my tracks. I glance around to meet his solemn gaze.

"…I do not trust _him_. Be on your guard."

—and he slams the door in my face.

…

It seems as if this entire day is a déjà vu.

I know he's covering up his pain, sliding on a smile to block the rest of the world out. But his defenses are even higher up than mine and Raphael's put together, even if it's with silver-tongued insults and cocky grins instead of threatening glares and icy silence. I can't break through them alone with mere words and quick banters.

They think I'm the most ambiguous one out all of us.

That Varon wears his emotions on his sleeves, that Raphael merely doesn't like to speak, that Mai is too immersed in revenge to converse, and that Dartz is our savior, the one whose ultimate goal is to purge the world of humanity and start fresh in paradise.

But perhaps it's me that is too immersed in revenge too converse; that its Raphael wears his emotions on his sleeves that Mai who merely doesn't like to speak and that Dartz is our Devil, the one whose ultimate goal is manipulate those around him to do his dirty work.

And I think Varon is the most ambiguous one.


End file.
